


Pressure

by prodigalsanyo



Category: Prodigal Son (TV 2019)
Genre: Established Relationship, M/M, Omorashi, Pet play mentioned, Stakeout, no beta we die like men
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-13
Updated: 2020-11-13
Packaged: 2021-03-09 17:53:34
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,982
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27530311
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/prodigalsanyo/pseuds/prodigalsanyo
Summary: Psst psst.  Here be kink.
Relationships: Gil Arroyo/Malcolm Bright
Comments: 12
Kudos: 11
Collections: Prodigal Son Kink Meme





	Pressure

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Ponderosa (ponderosa121)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ponderosa121/gifts).



> Happy Friday the 13th Birthday, Pond! ^_^ So many of my friendships are because of you doing your own thang and partying in the trash pile.
> 
> I'm sorry about giving you an extra thing to read when you're tryna catch up on Bang fics. Read when you're desperate... mebbe not as much as Malcolm will be fufufufu.
> 
> (Sorry, baby.)

Malcolm isn't expecting a fight when he slinks into Gil's office after making a discreet purchase at Nico the dom's pleasure shop. 

He had seen a three piece set of anal plugs. They were colorful like soft gummy candies. Malcolm salivated when looking at them through the glass countertop while JT sneaked glances at short leather skirts. Of course, Malcolm didn't buy the toys on the spot, deferring to Nico's online inventory.

The three piece toy set includes a bubblegum pink plug with double bubble ridges, a hot pink plug with triple bulbous beads, and an unexpected lavender number spiraled like saltwater taffy, reminiscent of unicorns.

Malcolm can't resist doing a test drive to Gil's office, especially after getting kicked off the Junkyard case. When Gil gestures for Malcolm to grab a chair, he moves leisurely instead of plopping down. He grips his knee as his own weight pushes in the anal plug. Ordinary motion turns the handle ring like a secret key. He feels the plug twist itself, drilling deeper, the thicker base spreading him like two fingers crossed for luck.

Today, he's sitting on lavender. Malcolm is feeling significantly less magical when Gil goes into boss mode.

"Agent Swanson met with me earlier this morning. Her highlights indicated that the Junkyard killer pinned you in that turnstile for a couple minutes. Long enough for you two to have words. Care to explain?" says Gil. He leans back in his chair, chin up, and hands steepled over his stomach.

Dating one's boss isn't the smartest career move, especially when one is caught in a lie at work. Malcolm is so fucked because Gil found out from Malcolm's former colleague, of all people.

"What's wrong, Bright? Can't sit still when you're in the hot seat?" says Gil.

"Give me a sec," says Malcolm. He puts his fingers to the edge of Gil's desk. When intentional breaths don't work, Malcolm stands up. The crotch of his tailored pants is tented.

The arm rests on Gil's chair scrapes his work desk as he draws back his chair. Gil's chest expands, shoulders lifting, when he sees what the problem is. Gil moves quickly. He pulls a door stopper from his desk, a rough hewn piece of wood scrapped from a home improvement project. Gil kicks the stopper into the crevice of his door.

Malcolm pinches at the seam of his pants, relaxing as he tugs the toy until the narrow tip is away from his p spot. He pictures Agent Swanson's smirk as she blows him up to his boss, to his lover. Instant boner kill.

Then Gil grips Malcolm's nape and pushes, gentle as he eases Malcolm belly down onto the tabletop. Malcolm keeps his grip on the edge of Gil's desk but he bends his legs and stands with his loafers further apart. His cock softens, but he can still feel it in his ass.

Gil's crotch presses Malcolm as he undoes Malcolm's belt buckle. Malcolm's pants gather on his legs, belt catching on the backs of his knees. Gil tugs down the back of Malcolm's lustrous panties, gray satin to complement the lavender toy clenched inside.

Malcolm's lashes flutter from Gil's fingers stroking the top of his ass, skimming the inviting texture of satin. The satin rubs against Malcolm's cock as Gil thrusts in the plug over and over.

"You are still in trouble," pants Gil as he breaks in their newest toy. Malcolm bites his neck tie, cheek unsticking from false wood grain when Gil's knuckles almost punches it in. It burns where the lube dried out. Malcolm's hips buck, ruining his panties, from Gil's harsh pinch on his buttcheek coupled with Gil's whispered pleas for Malcolm to be a good boy.

He's just a slick mess when Gil holds him. He twitches, nails digging into Gil's sweater when the plug digs into his oversensitive areas. Gil applies pressure, not letting up his heavy hand, even when tears dampen the collar of Malcolm's shirt.

Malcolm's tears are at first purely physical, his eyes welling up as Gil plays with him after orgasm.

He feels a stab of hurt when Gil jerks off and swats his hands away. One ply tissues catch Gil's cum and Malcolm cries over the wasted spill. Gil doesn't say no to him. Gil's rejection bites Malcolm in the ass.

"I should have told you. That's my fault." Malcolm's breath hitches, face twisted because he can't control himself. He sits on the edge of the chair, perched on one butt cheek, pants down, and still crying. Gil doesn't want his touch. Gil doesn't want his mouth.

Before Malcolm knows it, Gil stands over him and hugs his head. Malcolm hides his shame face in Gil's sweater.

"You can't withhold important things from me anymore," says Gil, cradling him. "If you're with me kid, don't lie to me. I couldn't live with it if I can't trust you."

Malcolm feels the kiss on his head and he is drowning in secrets with Gil right there.

He has so much that he can't share with anyone, much less the love of his life. He grabs onto Gil more selfishly. When he quiets down, Malcolm gets to sit on Gil's lap. Gil lifts Malcolm's shirt briefly and loves on Malcolm when he sees the bruises not yet faded from Junkyard's attack. The Junkyard file lays aside, seemingly forgotten.

* * *

Malcolm gets a sweet start on their stakeout with a fruity matcha tea. Gil buys it for him. The peace offering warms Malcolm's heart and his stomach though he feels bad about the fight they had earlier this week.

Sitting in the Le Mans, Malcolm is reminded of old times. They're in a parking garage, nearly to the top with less cars around, level with an illuminated window to a high rise apartment which they're watching. Gil parks so that there's room for both car doors to open suddenly, in case of unexpected developments.

Gil largely keeps his eyes on target, but his hands tell a different story. Their fingers are intertwined even as Malcolm offers his professional input on their person of interest in between sips of hot tea. Malcolm bends his neck, leaning into the way Gil cups his chin, facial hair brushing Malcolm's jawline. It's like a night at a drive-in movie, but with murder.

Malcolm is as close as he can get to sleepy after soaking in Gil's warmth. He feels a tickle and groans as he reluctantly shifts in the passenger seat. As sweet as Gil's intentions were, the matcha kicks in. Large order. Many, many sips. Malcolm did not pace himself. He gets out of the car and doesn't clear the adjacent parking space before he turns back around to knock on the Le Mans.

Gil rolls down the passenger window.

"Gil, can you drop me off on street level? I really need to go," says Malcolm.

Gil smiles through the night. "No."

"It'll take a sec. Please?" wheedles Malcolm.

"I believe in you, kid. Apparently you can hold it in," says Gil, with a twinkle in his eyes. "I would hurry, though. We're... how many floors up?"

"Shit. Gil. Please. Can we do this another time? You could put me in the puppy cage, put down newspapers, I don't care. Just. Just." Malcolm crosses his legs while he's bent over. He bounces on his soles and feels the slosh.

"Just hold it. That's what you like to do," says Gil coolly.

"Let me in, Gil." Higher pitch louder due to urgency.

"I think you could stand to let loose. But maybe not in my ride." Gil once more faces the windshield. It's like a kick to his bladder.

Malcolm doesn't even try the door. He sees the lock is depressed through the car window.

"Daddy. Please don't do this," pleads Malcolm. "Daddy?" His hand drops from the glass, smearing his paw print. Desperation is his own voice left hanging in the frigid air with Gil closed off from him. By choice.

"You have my permission to relieve yourself on private property," says Gil. Then he rolls the window way up.

Malcolm's forehead presses the cold glass. The faint musical strains of Careless Whisper issue forth from the Le Mans. The saxophone flows smoothly like a stream... Malcolm's thighs clench. Like a stream of poetry.

His superego advises him, in his mother's voice no less, that he is not a common pissant. He was raised better than to relieve himself on dirty cement. Malcolm is above it all.

But a more pragmatic facet of Malcolm's dizzying intellect reminds him that he is eight floors above the nearest toilette.

Malcolm slumps defeatedly, devoid of his eager energies when he normally whips out his dick. He knows better than to piss on Gil's tire. Gil might actually toss him over the barricade. Instead, Malcolm shuffles to the cement wall, aiming for a dim spot where a fluorescent rod burned out.

He almost wets himself when Gil switches on the headlights.

"Are you fucking kidding me," Malcolm grumbles darkly.

Let it not be forgotten that Gil is a cop, through and through.

Malcolm loses control in bursts. His hair falls in his face and he can't bat away the niggling strands. Damp lines run down the hard cement cold under his palm, his limp penis almost steaming hot beneath his fingertips.

Malcolm steps back when enough urine pools on the cement to splash his hemmed trousers. It beads on the polished toe of his wingtips. His sigh gushes into a moan as he strains to eek out the last drop. His moan echoes throughout the garage, subverting his attempts to pee as quietly as possible with Gil shining lights on his ass.

When the tension drains out, Malcolm's secrets rise to the surface. What's inside him remains hidden but it's as real as the shameful reek percolating around him. Malcolm knows that he's full of shit. But what kills him is that Gil knows it, too. Each icy breath cuts him.

Malcolm needs both hands to push off the barricade. He straightens his clothes despite the tremor. Gil is out of the Le Mans, leaning on the fender. He stops Malcolm from climbing back into the car. Gil hugs him tightly.

Malcolm flinches. He can't stand to touch Gil with how dirty he feels.

"I'm sorry, Daddy." His teeth chatter, his eyes burn, and his nose runs.

"Talk to me, baby. I need you to talk to me. Give me something for us to work with," says Gil. Gil's hot hands wrap around Malcolm's despite him doing that disgusting deed on the garage wall. Gil presses his lips to the backs of Malcolm's bloodless hands. Malcolm sees the action, but can't feel it, can't believe it.

Love and light radiates on Gil's face. It's like being embraced by the sun. Malcolm cringes as the ice in his veins thaw.

For a moment, Malcolm fears that he is stuck looking at the piss stain. He hears a sadistic whisper that Gil might rub his nose in it like a bad puppy.

"Take me home, Daddy."

This time, Gil listens. Gil clamps Malcolm's wrist like the jaws of life when he gets behind the wheel. 

Gil decides that home is his own semi-cluttered place, not the loft. Once Malcolm strips off his suit jacket, Gil tears off Malcolm's clothes and hustles him into a fragrant bath. Only then does he melt. 

Gil stays with him as Malcolm resignedly opens Pandora's box, with the girl inside. His muddied past will cost him their relationship. He's empty; Gil made sure of that in the parking garage.

Gil assures him that he is a good boy, praise and lavender washing over him. He learns that kisses taste better when he can't hold it in. It's hotter when he gets filled. Because Daddy still loves him.

**Author's Note:**

> Based on PSon Kink Meme prompt:
> 
> Dear trash fam, this is a note to myself to write Malcolm on a stakeout in Gil’s car and desperately needing a pee break. -Pond
> 
> (But also if anyone else wants to write this scenario for any ship, go wild.)
> 
> ***
> 
> A/N: I went mild. Satisfyer anal plugs used for references. That is to say, I looked up a picture of them. Unlike Malcolm, I cannot personally vouch for them.


End file.
